Shanshu and Black Thorne
by Kit Fisto
Summary: Post season 5 NFA. After defeating the demon army in the alley, Angel shanshu's. But his troubles arent over. He's gotta adjust to mortality, deal with faces from the past, and fend off the SP who want payback and are trying to form a new Black Thorne...
1. Chapter 1

**The Four Champions**

Four champions stood in the alleyway as hell itself marched towards them. The temperature was rising rapidly despite the merciless rain that had been hammering down over the past hour. None of them expected to survive for more than a few minutes. In the past evening, these four figures had destroyed more evil than most champions would in their entire lives, and now they were about to face the consequences of their actions. The Senior Partners were no longer in control of the fate of humanity, and this made them furious. Less than an hour ago the four champions (along with three others), had destroyed the Circle of the Black Thorn; a secret organization that acted as the Senior Partners instrument on earth. As far as humanity was concerned, the Senior Partners were now blind, deaf and dumb; their final apocalypse delayed thousands of years.

Illyria had the best eyesight of the four. She surveyed the approaching army with contempt. At that moment she thought of nothing more than inflicting as much pain as possible toward the approaching army. Never before had she felt so truly alone. Wesley; _her_ Wesley was dead. She tore her eyes away from the army of the damned and glanced briefly at her comrades. None of them would ever truly understand her. Charles Gunn, the wounded African-American mortal had only been alive for around two decades. Angel and Spike; the two vampires had only been around for a few centuries. She was the only being on the planet who knew how it felt to have existed since the dawn of time. Back then she was almost a god. She was feared and worshiped by her demonic brethren. Then the humans came and took her planet from her. Now here she was, thrust back into a world that she no longer recognized trapped in a frail human shell.

The demonic army marched closer still. Illyria could now make out several distinct facial features. Claws and tentacles gripped steel blades whilst a huge dragon soared overhead. She sneered in disgust. The army was made up of at least a dozen recognizable breeds of demon, and not one of them was as pure or as ancient as her. These creatures would have held her in revere back when she was in her original form. None of them would ever recognize her now. She was to be torn apart by her own kin, for the sake of a species of mammal she was repulsed by.

She thrust out her pale blue arm and offered it to Gunn for support. He gratefully accepted it, and gave a slight nod of thanks. Like Illyria, Gunn had also undergone a radical metamorphose over the past year. Charles Gunn had been born into a poor family on the bad side of town. He dropped out of high-school shortly after his family was murdered by vampires. His whole life he had aimed for nothing more than survival. Then in an instant, thanks to the Senior Partners, he was able to sign away his former self and become their most highly esteemed lawyer. An extensive knowledge of the legal system had been downloaded into his brain, transcending him from his former self. The Senior Partners were no doubt disappointed that Gunn would begin his final battle already so badly wounded. They had given him everything that made him special, and he chose to throw it back in their metaphorical faces. In his final moment, Charles Gunn truly embraced his former self. His _real_ self. His business shoes had been replaced by old sneakers, his suit with a hooded jacket, and his briefcase with an axe.

Gunn shifted his weight so that he could stand on his own. One hand clutched his stomach to slow the bleeding. He knew that he was going to die, yet at the same time he was able to feel a certain peace that he had not felt in his entire life. Thousands of lives would now be spared because he chose to sacrifice his own. He staggered forward, arms trembling because of blood loss. The demons were now upon them. He swung his axe, sinking it deep into a horned skull. Gunn's vision was now starting to blur, and his head begun to spin. To his left he could see Angel and Spike working together to cut a bloody swath through a cluster of demons.

The smell of blood and sweat mixed with the sulfur, rain and other smells of Los Angeles. After disposing of the Black Thorn, those that survived were all supposed to meet here in the alley for one last battle. Angel, Spike Illyria and Gunn had made it. Wesley and Lindsay were dead. Harmony had betrayed them. Who knows what happened to Lorne.

Gunn hacked the head off one last demon before being brutally stabbed from the side. He died before his body could hit the ground. Illyria hissed and turned to tear the head off the demon that had murdered Gunn. It was no surprise to her that the human had been the first to die. The two vampires would no doubt be next, then finally her. She turned to slam her fist through the face of another demon.

A wall of fire blasted behind her, illuminating her slender figure before the flames vanished under the heavy rain. She heard a loud reptilian bellow and she knew that Angel had killed the dragon, just as he had promised. Up until quite recently she had not thought much of vampires at all. They were the bastard offspring of demon and man, incapable of bearing children of their own. They weren't true demons like she was, yet neither were they in any way human. They were a remorseless, selfish, murderous race of beings, their only possible purpose being servitude for the Old Ones.

Vampires appeared on the face of the earth shortly after the humans. According to legend, the first vampire was created when a demon savagely mauled a human and mixed their bloods. The man's soul left his body upon his death, and the corpse rose again as a monster. The curse was then spread on to other humans, turning them into vampires as well. Vampires chose to keep their existence unknown to humans in order to ensure their own safety.

Angel and Spike were different from other vampires. At some point in each of their unlives, each of them had their human soul restored; rendering them once again capable of human feeling. They now had to bear the burden of remorse for all their past sins; all the lives they had taken or destroyed for their own sick pleasure.

In his glory days, Angel had been legendary among other vampires. The great Angelus was sired by the vampire Darla in Ireland 1753. As soon as his young drunken, whoring soul departed from his body into the ether, it was replaced by a monster like nothing the world had ever seen. Angelus often spent hours contemplating the true nature of evil. He strived to make every human he killed suffer just a little more than the last. Nobody was exempt from his perverted tortures. The tyrant Angelus destroyed everyone from infants to the elderly. His reputation surpassed many of the older vampires, including Darla. In the years that had passed, Angelus had been the subject of much discussion among the Watchers. It was often noted that the demonic bastard had only one consistent redeeming quality; an undying urge to protect his family. Of course, as far as he was concerned, his "family" excluded anyone who did not share his vampiric bloodline. His human father, mother and sister all met bloody death at his hands, but Drusilla, Darla, Spike, Penn and many others were sacred to him. His vile blood burned in their dead veins and they were his family. Like any family, Angelus would often have quarrels with his kin; Spike in particular, but anyone who meant to cause harm to his kin usually met a very slow and agonizing death.

Angel sliced at another demon with a sword in one hand. Spike snatched a wooden beam out of the air that was aimed at his heart. With both hands the blonde vampire swung the beam and impaled several demons before turning and tearing into the next. Angel had trained this childe well.

Back in "the day", Spike had always been a fascination for Angelus. Spike always seemed to posses a ghost of humanity that Angelus could never quite stamp out. Angelus both loved and hated Spike for this. He was sorely tempted to dust the younger vampire on the spot when they had first met. Who was this pathetic excuse for a man? Whatever Drusilla could see in this miserable wretch would always remain a mystery to Angelus. In the end, he attributed her affections towards the boy as a by-product of her madness and thought nothing more of it. But, the boy had become family, and no matter how dismal this young vampire was, Angelus took it upon himself to train and toughen young William.

For years the vampire known only William hated his new fatherly figure. The aristocratic air in which Angelus would strut about, the way he would have Drusilla whenever William's back was turned filled the Englishman with rage. William the Bloody soon discovered how powerful an ally rage and hatred could be, and before long William had not only earned a fierce reputation of his own, but the nickname "Spike", for his fascination with railroad spikes and the many places they could be forcefully inserted into the human body. Spike and Angelus were the best of friends and greatest of rivals. As much as Spike loathed Angelus, he never stopped following in his footsteps, always gaining pace and hoping to someday overtake his adored and despised grandsire.

Angel swung his sword in an arc, decapitating a wart covered demon. With his free hand he reached into his coat pocket and clutched a small metallic object –his hidden weapon, the object that would tip the scales in this battle. Too bad it would kill both Spike and Illyria in the process. Spike would be sure to "get over it" though, he always did. Angel smiled as he realized his hundred year quest for redemption was almost over.


	2. Chapter 2

**Consumed**

_One hour earlier_

Winifred Burkle was in a state of complete nothing. Her eyes moved and stared and yet she remained unaware. Her mouth spoke, her hands clutched the dying figure of her soulmate and yet she was completely remained completely oblivious to it all.

Wesley looked up at her, whilst the crumpled form of the sorcerer Cyrius Vail twitched in the corner of the room. "It was good that you came." He smiled up at her, blood flowing freely from the saber wound in his stomach. Fred heard and felt nothing. Wesley would be dead soon, and there was nothing she could do about it, even if she cared to.

"I killed all mine." Her mouth began. "I was…"

"Concerned?" Wesley offered.

"I think so." Fred was not having a conversation with Wesley. Somebody else was, through Fred's body. Fred had been dead for quite some time now. A part of her died the moment she accidentally inhaled the dust that escaped from the sarcophagus in her laboratory. Things had been going so well for her too. She was the head of the science division at Wolfram and Hart, she was surrounded by friends and workmates, and most importantly of all; she had Wesley. Fred was the type of person that would be loved by a person the moment they met her. And nobody loved her more than Wesley did. She had so much warmth, so much to live for. She had been speaking to her parents on the phone the morning that the sarcophagus arrived. She wanted to tell them so many things, but promised them that she'd call back later. She was very busy at that moment, a brand new artifact had been mailed to the laboratory, an artifact that had markings unfamiliar to everything in Wolfram and Harts records. Wesley studied the runes for hours at a time, while Fred tested the salinity level of the sarcophagus's casing. Neither of them seemed to be making any progress in the task, but neither of them seemed to mind. It gave them an excuse to work together. Fred giggled as Wesley accidentally knocked a beaker from the shelf, shattering it on the floor.

He opened his mouth to apologize, but Fred silenced him with a motion of her hand.

"Don't worry about it Wes, I'll get someone to clean that up later."

"Thank you." He said in a smooth British accent. "I'm suppose I'm getting just a little sleepy at the moment."

"Am I boring you?" Fred asked in mock indigence.

"Not at all." Wesley replied with a slight smile. "However, it's almost two in the morning, and I don't think either of us are getting any closer to discovering what this sarcophagus contains or where it's from."

"Yeah." Fred agreed. "I didn't realize it was getting so late. Maybe we should call it a night."

"Agreed. Did you call your parents back?"

"Not tonight. I suppose I've got all the time in the world to do that though."

Cyrius Vail sucked in a ragged breath. Angel had assigned Wesley to kill the sorcerer. Shortly after Vail stabbed Wesley in the stomach with a sword, Wesley managed to summon a fireball spell that slammed Vail into the wall. By the time he regained consciousness, Wesley was almost dead. Another figure, a female had entered the room and was now conversing with Wesley. She said that she killed all hers. Then realization dawned on Vail. This woman had killed several other members of the Black Thorn, just like Wesley was planning to kill him. How many had she killed? Did the Senior Partners know of this treachery? Was Angel behind all of this? So many questions filled his head.

"Would you like me to lie to you?" The woman asked Wesley.

Wesley moaned in agony and nodded. "Yes, thank you yes."

Fred's soul was in an indescribable state. It was neither conscious nor in any state of motion whatsoever. Her soul was trapped, caught in a place that was not a place at all. For the past few months everything for Fred was dark, silent and unmoving. Time stood still. At that moment however, something stirred.

The last thing Fred had known before she died was that she was lying in her bed, Wesley was reading to her and something was terribly wrong. One of the original demons, one of the Old Ones had trapped their essence inside the sarcophagus and it had infected Fred. Angel and Spike had flown to England to search for a cure. Wesley explained to Fred about a man named Drogyn, an immortal warrior who guarded the "Deeper Well", the burial ground for the Old Ones. If a sarcophagus had somehow escaped from the Deeper Well, Drogyn would know and he would help Angel prevent anything bad from happening to Fred. Fred writhed in pain and then fell from her bed, twitching in a violent siezure before finally blacking out.

Fred's body was now in possession of the ancient demon Illyria. Drogyn couldn't save Fred. Neither could Angel, but most painfully of all, neither could Wesley. Fred's soul was surrounded by thick darkness that pierced her. In life Fred had been slightly claustrophobic. If she were conscious now, surrounded in every possible way by thick black walls, whatever was left of her would be driven into insanity.

Thick black tendrils began to pull away from Fred's soul and for the briefest of moments, Fred was almost alive again. Wesley looked up at her. "Hello there." He smiled despite the searing pain below his stomach.

"Oh. Wesley. My Wesley" Fred sobbed. Illyria had the ability to assume Fred's persona and appearance at will. Wesley had been disgusted when Illyria first displayed this ability, but in his dying moments, he wanted nothing else.

"Fred. I've missed you."

"It's gonna be okay." Fred replied, her eyes still stained with tears. "It won't hurt much longer, and they you'll be where I am. We'll be together."

_You'll be where I am. But where am I?_

Fred panicked, and was once again lost inside Illyria.


End file.
